


26th Batch

by Cyberrat



Series: Fic Batches [26]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game), PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: Boot Worship, Face-Sitting, Gun Kink, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Service Top, Size Difference, Uniform Kink, Victim Blaming, Watersports, suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-11-08 02:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20828195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberrat/pseuds/Cyberrat
Summary: 26th Batch of my fics





	1. Reaper/Soldier76

**Author's Note:**

> R76 – watersports; old men – Jack can’t hold it anymore; the results are not what you’d expect! (... they are what you’d expect)

Gabriel admittedly does not have to contribute much to their love mak- _fucking_, other than get his ass up in the air and let Jack go to town on it. They kind of like it this way; Jack has a service top streak a mile wide (still… even after all these years), and Gabriel is not too proud to admit that he is maybe a bit of a pillow queen.

They fit nicely together like this; they never had many problems in the bedroom, and he thinks that that is quite… impressive, given the time they have been together.

They’re old men now and while they do spice things up every now and then, their favorite position is still Gabriel with his fat ass in the air, waiting for Jack to mount up and give it to him.

It is also easier on Jack; he can let gravity do some of the work to fuck down into Gabriel’s belly and make him shut up with the sharp little barbs about Jack’s age. He’s always liked riling Jack up like this; babbling mean nonsense just to get him angry enough to really give it to him; grunt fuck him until even the two enhanced Soldiers could do nothing but stare at each other in breathless awe.

Over the years those little barbs have merely changed to adapt to their new circumstances. And them being old… really makes it easy.

Still, he hasn’t said anything this time, for a change, so when there is a sudden hitch and then a pause in Jack fucking him from behind, big hands around Gabriel’s cinched waist to have something to hold on to, he grunts in confusion and turns his head.

“What is it?” he slurs. “Forgot what to do halfway through, old man?”

Jack makes a weird croaking sound, and Gabriel has to blink the heat out of his eyes and really _look_ back to see Jack’s pale face which is getting decidedly more flushed by the second.

“Uh… shit,” he grunts, and then Gabriel finally feels it too: the weird sensation of his intestines starting to expand from a lot more than just cum.

He blinks blankly at him, brain stalling, not yet figuring out what is happening. Jack is grimacing and whispering “fuck…” but he does it on a sigh, like he is relieved…

Like… he relieved himself…

“Holy shit?!” Gabriel croaks, belly flipping nervously in on itself. “Are you for fucking _real_, Morrison? You old piece of-”

“I’m sorry, alright?!” Jack rasps, voice grating even more now than it had when he had been a comparatively young man. His pale eyes slide away, unable to look at Gabriel. “I knew I should have fucking taken a piss, but you were _insisting_ that you couldn’t wait a goddamn minute longer…”

Gabriel huffs. He feels hot all over. His belly is filled with piss. His brain stalls at that, unable to think past the fact that Jack straight up pissed into his ass.

He feels… bloated – and when he reaches down with one shaking hand, he can feel the slightest of bumps in his lower abdomen. Goosebumps rise all over his body, washes of hot and cold making him feel a bit nauseous. He is… disgusted of course. Of course.

“What now?” he croaks.

Jack is quiet for a moment as he thinks about it and then says with a tight voice: “Alright just… I’m going to pull out real carefully and you have to… clench down. I’ll get a plug and-”

He is moving and starting to pull back, but Gabriel is reaching for him before he can clearly think about it and clamps a hand around Jack’s hip to keep him from moving even just another inch.

“...Gabe?”

“Stay…”

“What?”

Gabriel groans and pushes his face into the bedding as if he can make his face stop burning like that. He thought he’d be old enough not to be embarrassed about sex shit anymore but… well.

He’s never had a belly full of piss and a still decidedly hard dick in his ass. He doesn’t even know how Jack managed to piss with an erection, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Just… keep on fucking, okay?”

There is a moment of absolute silence in which he can practically hear the gears in Jack’s head starting to turn.

“Okay…” he murmurs eventually. He sounds just like he has when they were younger and just starting all of this stuff; secretly eager and a bit embarrassed. Murmuring like a little boy as he carefully starts pushing back in.

Gabriel’s chest becomes unexpectedly warm and affectionate. He carefully lets go of Jack’s hip one finger at a time until he can take his arm back forward to brace himself – and somewhat hide his head beneath his arms.

Jack is starting slow but he becomes… more enthusiastic soon. Gabriel’s belly is making embarrassing sounds; it really sounds like it is filled with liquid, and the sensation of it sloshing in his intestines is wild and unexpected.

Of course he can’t keep his rim clenched down tight enough around Jack’s cock to keep anything from spilling out, so he has to deal with the sensation of Jack’s warm urine squirting from him past the stopper of the dick fucking him in sharp but slow thrusts.

“Think you can come like this?” Jack asks on a grunt. He does not seem disgusted by any of it. He doesn’t even seem surprised that Gabriel is so very obviously into getting his piss filled ass pounded.

“I… don’t know,” he says on a soft whine.

“Hmmm… we’ll find out.”


	2. Reaper/Soldier76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R76 – mpreg; body horror (?); breeding kink – Gabriel needs to see Angela for that little bump in his belly... (warning: smol Halloween thing at the end)

Gabriel stands in front of the mirror, looking at himself with a deep frown. He turns to the side again, glancing at the sight of his slightly distended abdomen. He lets his palm slide across it. It’s big enough to lightly cup, and the sensation makes him feel a bit light headed.

Jack watches the spectacle from a little crack in the door. He’s been under the shower, and strictly speaking doesn’t want to spy on his old lover, but… well. He is now, isn’t he?

Gabriel’s face is making weird contortions; one second his expression looks like dawning horror, and the next like he’s trying very hard to talk himself out of something.

As Gabriel turns, Jack can see the swell of his abdomen, and how Gabriel’s large palm is carefully cupping it. He’s thought for some time now that the old man is probably starting to… put on a little weight, but quite honestly – it isn’t possible. The nanites will keep Gabriel in tip-top fighting shape right up until the day he dies which is equal parts hot and… really sad.

“Hey,” Jack rasps and finally opens the door completely. Gabriel has been totally immersed in staring at the unusual little bump, and he startles badly enough that he’s halfway into dissolving smoke which is shooting for Jack’s throat before he can, quite literally, put himself back together.

“What’re you doing?” he says as if he hadn’t been the blink of an eye away from dying. His heart is racing, but he pretends it isn’t, and Gabriel pretends like he can’t feel the vibrations of it humming through his nanobots.

“Nothing,” he murmurs harshly and grabs for a shirt he’s thrown over the back of a chair.

Jack is on him quicker than he can pull it on, and he sighs exasperated and explosive as he lets Jack push his arm down so he can have a better look at what they’re working with.

“What’s this?” Jack asks softly, hands sliding around Gabriel so one can grasp his hip and the other can carefully prod at the tight bulge in his abdomen. Gabriel hisses sharply.

“I don’t-” he starts, vaguely pushing at Jack’s hand to get him off. For a second Jack thinks he will deny anything being wrong – and knows exactly that’s what Gabriel is intending in that second – but then he finishes lamely: “...know.”

“Doesn’t feel like fat, does it?” Jack says softly, chin hooked over Gabriel’s shoulder. He has stopped prodding at it and is now gently cupping the little bulge, and shit… that’s… really kind of doing it for him. He glances into Gabriel’s face in the big mirror they’re standing in front of and from the look on his face he can tell that he’s… pretty much thinking the same thing.

Still…

“Maybe you should go to Angela.”

Gabriel’s hackles rise immediately, which was predictable.

“I don’t need to do shit. The nanobots will take care of any sickness.”

“Hmmm…”

Jack is still cupping the little bump, his thumb slowly swiping back and forth across Gabriel’s skin.

“But what if it isn’t a sickness…?”

Gabriel’s breath hitches and his dark eyes flick up to stare at Jack through the reflection in the mirror.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I mean… we’ve been talking about it all the time when we’re fucking. Maybe your little bots have adapted to it or something?”

Plumes of smoke start to rise all around off Gabriel’s skin. His mouth his hanging open as he stares at Jack and seems to have to gather himself. He looks like he’s trying to figure out if Jack is fucking around with him, but Jack is… surprisingly serious about it. It shocks him a little himself if he is being honest.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Morrison?”

“I just… mean… you should go and see Angela. Just to be sure.”

They’re quiet for a moment, both of them staring down Gabriel’s body to watch the both of them, fingers intertwined, cupping the little bump in his abdomen.

“It would be… kinda hot if you were pregnant, wouldn’t it?” Jack croons softly right into his ear.

Gabriel makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

“You’re a fucking freak,” he croaks. He sounds a bit afraid but that’s fair enough, Jack thinks. It’s a very weird situation.

“But it’d be hot, right? I mean… we’ve been talking about it so much… You getting nice and fat with my seed… having you so pregnant, I can only fuck you on your side… cute little breeding sow?”

He’s trying to… he doesn’t know. He wanted to make him laugh but falls short of that a mile wide. They’re both very quiet, staring at the bulge. Gabriel looks a bit far off and more weirded out by the second.

He does not protest it when Jack gently clasps his hand and leads him out of the room, shirtless and all.

.o.

Angela looks just as weirded out as them, but absolutely delighted still as she drags a weird little pen across Gabriel’s shiny wet abdomen. She’s staring at a monitor while she keeps on dragging it here and there.

It takes a lot longer than it should for her to finally says, breathless and intrigued: “You’re pregnant… my… goodness…”

Jack and Gabriel stare at each other, mouths slightly slack, unsure how to react when Angela continues: “It’s not human.”

“What-”

“What the fuck??”

She nods slowly, pushing the pen into the side of the bump and gesticulating at something on the mess of the monitor.

“Yes… look? It has a tail… And little protrusions here? They look like horns… absolutely fascinating…”


	3. McCree/Hanzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree/Hanzo – coming together; face sitting; suffocating – Hanzo has weird ideas about how to make up with his team mate.

Between Hanzo telling Jesse to sit on his face and Jesse actually setting his body into motion lies a surprising amount of time. At least in Hanzo‘s opinion.

He thinks that his request has been uttered calmly and rationally, the pros and cons already tallied up in his mind during the few days that Jesse has been out on mission.

Jesse, however, looks at him like he‘s lost his mind.

“What the fuck, Shimada?”

Hanzo rolls his eyes. He snuggles down more firmly on the bed. 

“I would have thought you would‘ve been dreaming of this moment. Come here before I-”

“How did you even get into my room?!”

Hanzo levels him with a calm look, fingers intertwined across his belly. He tries to keep focusing on the moment but in his mind’s eye he keeps thinking about Jesse’s ass; how nice and… fat it is. Hairy.

He’s stared at it beneath the showers more often than he is comfortable to admit to himself, even though their love/hate relationship hasn’t even evolved into anything approaching love yet.

Still, Hanzo has a plan and he usually sticks to those, and the feeling of letting McCree go on that mission while the argument had still been between them, unresolved, hat not… sat well with him.

“Stop wasting our time and get over here,” he sighs eventually when Jesse does actually seem to be waiting for an answer.

Weirdly enough, there is still some kind of hesitation. Jesse’s hands wander to his belt buckle, then stop again, staring at Hanzo with a weird squint.

“What exactly is this supposed to be, Shimada? An apology? Is that how you made up in that… yakuza clan of yours?”

“McCree!” he barks, “either you get over here and sit on my face, or I will leave! It is as easy as that.”

“There’s nothing easy about any of this you crazy motherfucker,” Jesse hisses back at him. It almost feels like they’re about to start an argument all over again, but Jesse does push off his boots and begins walking towards Hanzo while opening his gaudy belt buckle, so Hanzo lets it slide this time.

“You’re absolutely insane, you know that?” McCree asks curiously when he is next to the bed and finally drops his jeans. His cock flops out, somewhere on its way to being half-hard, and Hanzo stares at it, mouth going dry. 

McCree is not shy about his nudity; he’s never been. If there is some excuse to show off in the showers with the whole team present, McCree will be the first to shamelessly let his hips sway to make everyone pay attention to the heavy pull of his testicles or girth of his ruddy cock.

The fact that he is interested – that he goes along with Hanzo’s admittedly ridiculous demand – speaks volumes.

“McCree. Sit.”

They stare at each other. Hanzo can see that McCree is having fun being contrary just for the sake of it, so he makes as if to stand up to get a move on. McCree grunts and hectically grabs his shoulder to push him back down. Hanzo lets him do it.

And then, finally, McCree is crawling onto his own bed that Hanzo had made his for the time being, and after a second of uncharacteristic hesitation, swings one thick thigh over Hanzo’s head.

The thick musk immediately engulfing him is… mouth watering, to be true. Just as the sight is. McCree’s asscheeks are hairy – which Hanzo has known – and that extends to inside the crack. His hole is a cute pink little thing in midst of the fur, and it looks more than ready for Hanzo’s tongue.

It’s almost a little shocking how virginal McCree’s asshole looks when everything else on the cowboy is big and brawny and as ruddy as his dick.

McCree has turned towards the headboard so he can brace himself against it which has his junk rest gently on Hanzo’s forehead. The feeling is not unwelcome, to be honest. He quite likes the sensation of McCree’s heavy breeder balls resting on him, chubby cock nestled in his hair.

He’d never admit it, of course.

“You sure ‘bout that?”

“McCree… sit down.”

He can hear McCree take a deep, bracing breath and then he lowers himself and everything becomes blessedly dark as Hanzo curls his arms around the man’s thick thighs to pull him down further. Make him really put his weight in it.

Hanzo’s nose is digging into the fragrant little nook behind Jesse’s balls. There’s a lot of fur here and it just… smells. Reeks maybe, even. Not enough to make his eyes water or have him gag; just enough to get him stupidly interested in sticking his head between McCree’s thighs every morning when the other one is still sleeping just to quietly and peacefully sniff his balls and taint…

“Wow… are you… are you smelling me, Shimada?”

Jesse’s deep voice just about reaches his ears. He sounds a lot more shy now that he’s sitting on a man’s face.

Hanzo angles his chin up. He gets out his tongue, patiently letting it drag through the forest in Jesse’s ass crack until he finally hits gold and can circle the impossibly soft skin of his anus.

Above him, Jesse gasps – which he can’t hear – and then suddenly puts even more weight onto him. It is glorious, really. He can’t breathe, just exist in Jesse McCree’s fat, hairy ass.

He sucks a lewd kiss onto Jesse’s clenched little hole and the cowboy whines like a kid.

Hanzo stays like this until his head is pounding as if it is going to split apart, and then he sharply smacks Jesse’s thigh to make him lift up again.

When he does, Hanzo’s bleary eyes focus first on the sight of his hole, flushed a delicate pink and wet with Hanzo’s saliva. He needs this more often.

He will _have_ this more often.


	4. Harold/Sigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harold/Sigma – sexually insecure/unexperienced Sigma; first time BJ; premature ejaculation; multiple orgasms (in theory) – Siebren is too cute to not to give a blow job.

Sigma is clawing with one hand at the armrest of the chair he is sitting on, the other is pressed against his face to keep either him from looking down at Harold calmly lapping at the tip of his cock, or from seeing Harold just how desperately flushed he has become.

Both does not work quite as intended. Siebren’s hands are big, but he wouldn’t be able to hide the fact that his ears are almost glowing in the dark, and his big pale eyes are still occasionally peeking between his splayed fingers to dare a little look down before dramatically clenching shut again.

“Oh Goodness,” he is whispering once more.

He digs the naked heels of his feet against the floor and Harold has to hastily curl his arms around the legs of the chair to keep him right where he is and not let him push away.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks softly, breath puffing against the shiny wet head of Sigma’s cock. As he huffs and waits for his lover to build enough courage to answer, his glasses start to fog up. He lets slowly go off the chair legs to pull it off and clean it, sitting on the haunches of his feet and looking up expectantly.

“You are… you are too kind,” Siebren finally manages to say. Now that Harold’s tongue isn’t drawing incessant patterns against the swollen tip of his cock, he has somehow found the strength to let go off the arm of the chair and his face in favor of twisting his hands in front of his belly.

He would have done so in his lap but… well.

Harold smiles at him patiently as he pushes the glasses back onto his nose.

“But are you _enjoying_ yourself?” he asks again, moving slowly as he reaches for Siebren’s wonderfully long cock once more and curls his hand low around the shaft. Siebren looks close to a heart attack for a moment.

It is endearing and a bit sad how shy he gets when they become intimate. He’s sworn up and down that he hasn’t been a virgin, and Harold believes him, but any and all encounters with partners must have been few and far between in his life.

“Are you?” he croons, hand slowly sliding up, eyes flicking from Siebren’s hot face to the sight of his cock, foreskin slowly gliding up over the tip to hide it before he pulls back down again. It looks absolutely delicious, popping back out of the silky skin, and from the way Siebren’s breath hitches it must feel good, too.

“I am,” he says softly. He reaches one long, trembling hand out and pushes the thin fingers into Harold’s hair, petting him like one would a cat. Harold certainly enjoys it.

“Good,” he murmurs, throwing him a slow, sweet smile. Siebren smiles back. He’s a tall man with broad shoulders, and it is easy to see how he seems to relax every muscle at Harold’s grin. It is humbling, really.

Still, Harold dosen’t give him any warning before he suddenly lets himself sink forward, mouth open and wet; a greedy furnace that just pushes over the tip of the delicious cock pointing at him and keeps going… and going… and going…

Siebren hectically grips Harold’s shoulders in his surprise. His fingers are digging in, painfully so, but Harold is more focused on opening his throat with a soft, wet click for the blunt pressure of Siebren’s cock.

There’s a moment of triumph when his nose gets to nestle in the short salt-and-pepper pubes at the base of Siebren’s cock; and then confused surprise as there is a thick pulse of the vein pressed against his tongue that seems to go through the erection and ends in a first spurt of cum going right down his throat.

Hectically, Harold pulls back some, trying not to cough as Siebren keeps coming; almost noiselessly other than his breath hitching. His pale eyes are big in shock and dismay as they bore down into Harold’s calm gaze. He looks like he is already searching for any words of apology he can think of even while his cock is still flexing and pumping out thick streams of cum which Harold gathers in the back of his throat before swallowing down thickly, eyelids fluttering in delight.

When he finally pulls back, he is still holding Siebren’s cock, thumb lightly massaging the underside.

“Again,” he says, reaching up with one shaking hand to wipe at a trickle of cum or saliva he can feel against the corner of his mouth. “More…”

Siebren is startled out of whatever stream of apologies are neatly lining themselves up on his tongue. He blinks slowly. His shallow cheeks are deliciously flushed after his orgasm. What comes out of his mouth is still an apology because he is Dr. Siebren de Kuiper.

“Excuse me?”

“I want more… you can give me more, can’t you?” Harold nestles his head on Siebren’s thigh after taking his glasses off and hooking them in the front of his shirt. He is close to Siebren’s cock. He can smell it; deliciously clean and a bit musky. It is hot and silky between his fingers as he squeezes and rubs it to keep it nice and hard.

He leans down and kisses Siebren’s balls. They feel full still.

“Give me more… I know you can…”

“Oh… Harold-” Siebren whispers with a shocked little tremble to his voice, but his hand is back, petting nervously through Harold’s dark hair.

“I… will endeavor to…”

He swallows hard. He still looks so embarrassed and sweet; Harold wouldn’t have it any other way, to be honest.


	5. Lúcio/Doomfist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lúcio/Doomfist – romance; bit of alcohol; bit of big dick humiliation; size difference – Lúcio and Doomfist are in wuv.

Akande has been barely able to keep in his chair during their dinner. Lúcio looked… beautiful- no, _delicious_ in his suit, sitting there and eating and laughing and talking while Akande, usually quite the charmer himself, could only sit and be in awe.

Lúcio is beautiful. A treat. A _vision_. 

Akande had been fascinated out on the battlefield, trying to catch glimpses of the young medic and feeling his cock stir whenever the little nightingale manages to slip out of his grasping arms, laughing and pushing him away with a wave of sound produced by his weapons.

He’s never been able to watch him up close like this. To have him sit still for once when all he has are memories and videos of him on stage where he is constantly moving like a hummingbird.

He is painfully beautiful.

He tells him as much when he has somehow managed to coax him into his hotel room, kneeling before him and holding one tiny foot in one of his hands; they look as big as saucepans next to the dainty limbs of the young man.

“Sweet talker,” Lúcio accuses him with a broad grin and Akande’s chest goes tight at the sight of his dimples. They look just as delicious as the rest of him.

He shakes his head slowly and grabs one of their wine glasses, carefully between two thick fingers, yet instead of putting it to his own mouth, he offers it up to Lúcio, urging him to drink, which he does with a surprised, amused little squawk.

A bit of moisture is trickling down the corner of his mouth. Akande is absolutely fascinated.

It is not his intention to get Lúcio drunk – he’s just wanted to watch his Adam’s Apple move – but seeing him tipsy is just as delicious as the rest.

He becomes bolder, slouching a bit more from his prim perch on the edge of the chair, and pushing his little foot first into the palm of Akande’s loosely grasping hand – and then against the big warm bulge of his cock.

Akande whines. He barely dares touching the young man; he seems so… delicate. Dainty. Akande feels like the worst kind of brute when he grabs at him; like Lúcio’s bones have to snap like brittle sticks if he isn’t careful enough – but Lúcio will have none of that.

He lifts his foot after pressing the sole against the fat cock, and nudges against Akande’s chest. He goes down immediately; a big lion capitulating in front of a kitten.

Lúcio stands above him, legs spread into a V about his broad hips that has his dress pants pull tighter across his own cock; a delicious little line down one thigh.

He begins to strip for Akande, and Akande almost wants to shield his eyes from the sight, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He can’t remember the last time he’s been so nervous. Years back, maybe, when he’s still been a lot younger and trying all of this out for the first time.

Lúcio doesn’t seem nervous at all. He is grinning and giggling, eying Akande like he is a meal; as if he hadn’t been wined and dined just half an hour before.

“You’re so _big_!” he says. It sounds awed. He is getting naked, and Akande is distracted thoroughly.

He tries to get naked as well, but way too late. Lúcio has already stripped – he’s not worn any underwear… he’s gone to their dinner freeballing it and had smiled at Akande so sweet and innocent – and is right on him, giving him but a moment to enjoy the sight of his silky looking skin and the jut of his little cock.

He can barely feel his weight when Lúcio sits on his thick thighs and begins to fumble around with his belt.

“I’ve thought about this since I got your message,” he tells him easily. “I’ve wanted to know…”

His little fingers are dancing across Akande’s cock, teasing and exploring, feeling around the humid, hot inside of his underwear until he finally manages to curl his fingers around the shaft and ease it out of its confines.

“Wow…”

He’s holding Akande’s cock up against his belly. It is… grotesquely big looking. Akande looks for but a second before he has to glance away. He’s nearly reaching to the young man’s ribcage.

He has the sudden, overwhelming desire to just apologize to Lúcio over and over again for how impossibly big he is against the other man.

“Look at that!” Lúcio sounds so excited, Akande glances back despite his better judgement. He has shifted a bit until his own cock is right there next to Akande’s pointing up eagerly. It looks beautiful. Delicious. Perfect.

It is… impossibly small next to Akande’s grotesquely big cock.

Lúcio looks like he has none of Akande’s qualms. In fact, he looks like he has the time of his life.

He has both hands curled around the thick cock and is slowly stroking it up and down. He leans down and rubs his cheek against the glistening tip after pulling down on the foreskin.

He snuggles with it like it is one of his most beloved toys.

“That won’t fit…” he murmurs softly with just a hint of a slur, soft brown eyes curling up to watch Akande who is about to sputter about him not having to fit anything anywhere when he finishes: “...tonight. But I will train.”

Akande closes his eyes, dragging a hand across his mouth and chin.

Oh… goodness...


	6. Reaper/Soldier76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R76 – demon!Gabe; priest!Jack – a confessional gone wrong. Or right.

Jack almost misses the slight rustling of the heavy dark curtain hanging between him and the penitent.

To his embarrassment he has to admit that he almost fell asleep waiting. The little booth is nice and warm, other than the freezing cold of the church outside.

He will have to pull the confession hours to an earlier hour so he won’t be caught napping…

He clears his throat and shifts slightly on the pillow he’s put on the chair, then waits. Nothing happens for the longest time.

He is almost convinced that he imagined the rustling of the curtain when he can hear it: a slow, steady breathing coming from the other side. It sends a prickle down his spine as he waits with bated breath for the penitent to begin speaking.

The moment stretches, though. Jack finds himself slowly closing his eyes and listening to the slow in-and-out going on on the other side. It is deep and unhurried. It makes something… stir inside of him. Makes him antsy.

He opens his mouth but before he can say anything, the person on the other side suddenly starts speaking.

“Forgive me Father, for I have… sinned…”

Jack slowly wipes his palms against his knees. He wonders if he has actually fallen asleep and is just dreaming all of this. He has never been this… nervous before. Unsettled, even.

His heart is doing a quick tattoo against his ribcage, sweat gathering at his brow as the previously toasty warmth of the confessional booth suddenly seems to become… unbearable.

“It has been… a long time since my last confession.”

The voice on the other side is soft and deep. Smooth. He closes his eyes and slowly curls his fingers into the heavy fabric of his frock.

His mouth is dry as he finds himself leaning to the side; towards the penitent as if to press his ear against the cloth of the curtain, drawn despite himself.

“My sins are…”

There are a second where Jack doesn’t want to hear them. He opens his mouth, intent to interrupt the person on the other side, but before he can bring a word out, they continue, sharply as if they had been aware of his attempt to interrupt them.

“…I am jealous, father… Frightfully so… There is this… man… that I am interested in. Very much interested in. But there are so many others vying for his attention, and I find myself… struggling… not to hurt them… so I will have him all for myself…”

The person has a way of speaking; slow and deliberate, almost a whisper that has Jack turning on his chair until his glistening forehead is all but pressed into the curtain. His hands are curled so tightly on his knees, they are shaking.

He realizes that he is afraid.

“That…” he starts, but the person on the other side interrupts him.

“And, father… I am in love… with a taken man…” It sounds like the penitent has turned themselves as well; his whispering now, mirroring Jack’s position, right in front of his face.

He can feel his cock stirring.

“He is devoted to another… but I can’t seem to not want him… to coax him away from the arms of his lover… to have him all for myself… have him… worship me…”

Jack is panting now, fat drops of sweat sliding down his temples and gathering at the point of his chin. He feels sick. Feverish.

There is quiet on the other side for a long moment. Jack’s obvious, laborious breathing is mirrored by the penitent. He wonders, even though he shouldn’t, if the person is just as… excited as he is. He tries not to think about it, but his cock is a long, hard rod against the front of his frock. It does not feel right to think about it in here. To even feel it when he is listening to someone distraught and seeking for help.

The curtain between them rustles slightly. There is a moment of shock when he thinks the person will just pull the curtain away, but nothing happens – until he feels a touch to his ankle.

He looks down, but in the darkness he can’t see a thing. He can only feel as whatever it is that has curled around his foot is traveling gently up his calf.

He feels impotent to do anything against it.

He realizes that he can’t place the voice on the other side. He has no idea who it is that is confessing to him.

“Daddy…” the voice on the other side croons, sweet and endearing. “I’ve been so naughty… don’t you want to do something against it?”

Jack is panting. The thing that has been crawling up his thigh is starting to take his frock with it. He tries to stop it with shaking hands from exposing him, but it is strong and unrelenting.

He looks down for but a second, seeing a black length of… rope? that has slipped beneath his frock and his dancing against the inside of his thigh, urging him to spread his legs – and when he looks up again, the curtain has been drawn to the side without him noticing and a creature is standing before him, filling the space so much that it has to bend its head.

It’s lower body is covered in a thick, dark fur, legs bent weirdly to the back. It takes him a while to understand that they are goat’s legs, the hoofs looking as big as Jack’s head.

He leans back in his chair. There is nowhere for him to go. His hands are curled around the armrests, knuckles coming out white as he stares up into the darkness where the demon’s eyes are twinkling at him.

The demon leans down, and Jack has to admit he is… beautiful… his dark eyes are glistening, lips full and framed by a very neat beard. He looks like one of the men he shamefully imagines when he touches himself once or twice a month.

The demon smiles at him knowingly. His tail – for that is what it was, curling beneath the curtain – is pushing Jack’s frock up past his now unresisting hands until his cock jumps free.

“No underwear… how naughty…” the man… demon… croons at him. He reaches for Jack’s head and gently pets at his cheeks and temples. His touch is soft and gentle. Irresistible.

Jack can just stare and stutter as he is being pressed deep into his chair when the demon crawls into his lap, crushing him down into the seat, just shy of bruising.

The demon leans down to him as he curls his hand around Jack’s cock, pressing it into the furry crack of his ass and letting it nose against a soft, naked little space that has Jack go cross-eyed and vibrating on his chair.

“N-No…” he finally breathes out, and the demon chuckles, pressing suckling little kisses against Jack’s face and mouth while lowering himself and engulfing Jack in the heat of his body.

“I’m so jealous,” the demon croons, moving slow and insidious, stars exploding in front of Jack’s eyes. “I don’t want you to pay attention to anybody, daddy… only me…”

He takes him as if he’d been made just for Jack, insides hot and quivering, designed to make Jack crumble just for him.

And crumble, he does.

Jack had fancied himself strong in idle little daydreams. That he would repel any and every advance by Satan, but faced with a real demon, he dances exactly along his tune without so much as a token of protest.

He lets go off the armrests of the chair and instead slings them around the demon’s hips, face coming forward to press into his solar plexus while the creature bounces on his lap and gives his touch starved body what it has been craving for years.

Jack sobs inconsolably, thick tears running down his cheeks while the demon chuckles and rocks him like a babe, insides squeezing and milking and not stopping until Jack can’t help but buck and spill himself, ears throbbing in time with the frantic pulse in his cock.

He feels like he’s had an epiphany. Like he’s seen… not God, but… something… similar.

The demon croons at him, petting through his receding, white hair.

“My Jack… finally I have you…”


	7. Genji/Hanzo + McCree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji/Hanzo + McCree – rape/rape play (Hanzo is into it); virginity/loss of virginity; voyeurism – Genji has had enough.

There’s no way Hanzo can fight what is happening when their dragons are playing along with Genji’s scheme.

His spirits are suspiciously absent when Genji grabs him and slams him down onto the kitchen table in the middle of the night.

It would have been an easy thing for them to push the younger Shimada away, but maybe they feel that what he is doing to their master has been a long time in the making anyway.

After all, it isn’t like Hanzo has only just started being a stingy bitch and showing off his tight body without putting out.

Genji quite clearly remembers their few times in the onsen, back when they were younger, sitting across his big brother and watching him slowly wet his body with the hot water; big hands cupping his even bigger tits and dragging his palms across the wet skin until his plump areolas appeared again.

It’s been just this side of decent, and there’s never been a follow-up on it.

Hanzo has always been Hanzo, and as such, he showed off and got dicks wet but never pulled through and helped the poor bastards to get off.

Seeing him continue this behavior now, here… a whole lifetime later… it put Genji’s hackles up.

He could see his friends watching, all of them too polite to say anything whenever Hanzo walked around half-naked, showing off the gentle bounce of his tits when he moved… too nice to just grab him and bend him over and take what’s been put so clearly on offer – and Genji, quite honestly… has _had_ it with that behavior.

His spirit is out in a flash, crawling down his body and behind Hanzo, curling around his wrists in some kind of makeshift cuffs while Genji wrestles his big brother’s legs apart.

“Genji!” he hisses, bright spots of agitation appearing on his high cheekbones, dark eyes looking murderous as he tries to twist away but is held in place by his very determined little brother and his spirit dragon. “What are you doing?!”

“What do you think, Hanzo?” Genji croons back, sounding a lot calmer than he actually feels as he palms Hanzo through the loose sweatpants he is wearing.

“I think you know exactly what I am doing, big brother. I’m finally taking what you’ve been putting up for grabs for _years_. Did you think you’d just get away with it?!”

Hanzo is staring at him like he’s gone insane, his sensual, wide mouth slightly hanging open, lips wet and silky looking.

“Let… let me go. Have you lost your mind?” His eyes are wide as he speaks, knees trembling but legs whorishly splayed for his brother even without having to fixate him.

Genji smiles behind his visor. He does not answer, just hooks his fingers into the elastic waistband of the sweatpants and pulls down on them. Hanzo squeaks like a little pig. It’s all cute, really. He is babbling something, trying to make Genji see reason, but he’s been crawling about with no shirt on and the more he struggles the more his tits are bouncing and Genji knows that he is completely in the right to molest his older brother.

“I even brought lube, onii-chan… I was very prepared.” He puts the little tube of it next to Hanzo where he can see it while Genji is eying all that he has to offer between his coltishly trembling thighs:

A nice cock, pink and unused looking in midst of the jet black pubes that Hanzo has groomed impeccably – and a cute little hole beneath his heavy looking balls; just as pink and cute. It feels… impossibly soft against the sensors of his fingertips. 

A little virgin cunt just for Genji to defile.

That’s a nice thought right there…

“You’ve had others, right, onii-chan? In here?” he croons while rubbing two fingers in gentle little circles across the warm little slit.

Hanzo has thrown his head back, strong chin pointing to the ceiling, veins popping out from his sturdy neck as he seems hellbent on trying to persevere even though his cock is starting to plump up under Genji’s gaze.

When he doesn’t answer, Genji can feel his belly do a low, delicious swoop.

“Right… Onii-chan?” he whispers.

.o.

McCree had left the warm embrace of his bed to track down a glass of water, but the sight that greets him is a lot better, albeit more unlikely.

He stands there for a couple minutes, watching – and listening – to the spectacle that is Hanzo _stingy bitch_ Shimada getting his cunt finger banged by his little brother.

His legs are in the air, bouncing like those of a cheap whore as Genji’s arm is moving in a very unmistakable way.

When he is suitably sure that he is not dreaming any of this, Jesse starts coming closer.

The two of them are barely making any noise other than the wet squelching of Hanzo’s pussy and the soft grunts being fucked out of him. There’s a gentle green glow from beneath him; probably Genji’s spirit making sure that Hanzo keeps nice and still while he finally gets fucked like he deserves.

“What’s that now? A party and I’m not invited…” he drawls.

The brothers’ heads snap around to stare at him. If he didn’t know better he’d say that Hanzo’s dark eyes look decidedly wet, like he’s close to bawling.

He looks delicious; stretched out on the kitchen table, his cock an angry red as it bounces between his thighs.

“It was a spur of the moment type of thing,” Genji answers smoothly after getting himself back under control. Hanzo’s mouth is gaping, staring at McCree looking at him as if he is perusing some artwork in a museum.

“M-McCree!” he barks suddenly, voice a little brittle. “Make him see sense!”

McCree hums softly. His dark eyes are fixed on how red Hanzo’s cheeks are, and then on the jiggle of his tits with another deep thrust of Genji’s fingers. He steps closer, leaning in and having a look for himself.

“There, there… look at that,” he rasps. God, he’d known Hanzo’s cunt’d look like this; pink and silky, stretching beautifully on the fingers Genji has already force fucked into him.

And then Genji leans in and whispers something towards him that makes the whole thing _even better_.

“A virgin, you say?” he croons and slowly makes his way around Hanzo. “Should’ve known, right? Of course a stingy bitch like him would be a virgin…”

Hanzo is gaping at him. He can see the light of hope for rescue slowly waning from his eyes, and… that’s even hotter.

Jesse leans his hip against the side of the kitchen table and fishes for a cigar. He can’t smoke in here but he needs something in his mouth while he watches the bounce and jiggle of those tits.

“Go on, then… I wouldn’t dare ta take that from you, my friend. You’ve been waiting to have that cunt on your dick a lot longer than any of us.”

Genji makes a sound like a whine. He pulls his fingers out with a slick little sound. Jesse can only imagine how that cute little virgin hole is gaping now; brick red and so unused to being treated like the fuckhole it is.

“You can have him after,” Genji promises him as he fumbles to get his cock out.

Jesse hums and reaches over, tweaking one pudgy areola because he just needs to test whether his inverted nipples are as soft as they look.

“Yeah… take your time, Genji. _Enjoy_.”


	8. Baptiste/Sigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baptiste/Sigma – service/therapy top Baptiste; hurt/comfort – Baptiste can’t see Sigma in pain.

Baptiste is not immediately involved with the experiments that are conducted on test subject Sigma, but he is usually present anyway, standing in the back row, arms crossed in front of his chest as he watches through the thick windows with all the other scientists.

Sigma’s hair has started growing back in after they had shorn him for the purpose of implanting the ports into his head, but it still looks quite grotesque when he is sitting in the middle of the room in a straight jacket, thick cables protruding from the ports and vanishing somewhere up in the ceiling.

It must look scary from his perspective as well because the first few times he looked up and saw the forest of cables hanging from the ceiling, feeling their weight pulling on his scalp, he freaked out and propelled all of them from his person which had been dangerous in and off itself.

They have taken to sedating him somewhat to keep him calmer. Less skittish.

It has the undesirable side effect of making him more sluggish to react, however, so Baptiste watches, lips pressed into a tight line, as more and more volt get pumped into the old man just to figure out what can trigger responses and how.

It is difficult to watch him jerk and twist; hear his little whimpers through the speakers. He’s as bound as they come, a bit between his teeth to keep him from biting off his tongue; body fixated to a chair bolted to the floor.

Sigma is always tuckered out after these sessions. Baptiste is not quite sure why they make it so hard on themselves; they’ve beaten the man down into an obedient little puppy grovelling for the slightest bit of comfort.

He has no doubts that at this point he would do whatever they asked for if they did so with fingers carding through his downy hair and a finger pointing him in the direction of where the carnage should happen.

It’s better for him, Baptiste supposes. It definitely is better for the two of them.

While he is not involved in the experiments per se, he is the one in charge of bringing him back to his rooms and getting him into bed.

Sigma is loopy and heavy against Baptiste, but when the clasp of his rubber bit is undone and Baptiste holds out his hand, he spits it out willingly enough.

“There you go…” Baptiste murmurs, fingertips petting across the man’s gaunt cheek.

Talon… is not what he thought it would be. It had been good in the beginning; they were people of _action_… but seeing what they were doing… what they were capable of doing to this defenseless old man… it made him question a lot of things.

Sigma becomes a bit more coherent as he opens up the straight jacket and peels him out of it. His long fingered hands are grasping at Baptiste, hooking into any folds in his clothes that they can get a hold on, his big pale eyes staring up at him in mute horror. Begging.

“Shh… Everything is alright now, isn’t it?” Baptiste murmurs. He feels… wretched for the hollow consolation, but for whatever reason it seems to work for Sigma who closes those unsettlingly pale eyes and leans his forehead against Baptiste’s chest, nodding slowly.

Like this, Baptiste can see the ports they have drilled into his skull. It makes him nauseous to think what these people are capable of doing to another living being.

He moves slightly, and Sigma makes a wordless noise of panic, grabbing at him harder. Baptiste shushes him again. His throat is squeezed tight as he brushes warm, calm palms across the man’s broad shoulders.

“I can make you feel good…” he tells him softly. He brushes fingertips along his jawline until they are hooked beneath his chin. He lifts his head, staring quite seriously at the old man’s face.

Sigma’s eyes are so big and pale and unsettling; staring at him as if he is seeing something just beneath his skin. Still, there is also something cute about them – like when Sigma goes a bit cross-eyed as Baptiste leans down to brush a slow, sensual kiss against his mouth.

There are always two sides to a coin, Baptiste thinks. It would be good to keep that in mind.

He would feel worse for slowly stripping Sigma, if he weren’t so very eager about it. He is lifting his arms for Baptiste to pull his shirt off and raises his hips to let him drag down his pants.

He makes soft little sounds of eagerness, his long cock gently chubbed up already. He’s reacting beautifully to the slightest offer of kindness; just as Baptiste had thought.

God, this man could be a weapon. It is scary to think about.

He lies behind him on the thin cot. They’re both big men but Sigma somehow manages to make himself seem a lot smaller than he is. He is lifting his upper thigh, opening himself up, desperation making him scratch at Baptiste as he reaches back to claw at his hip.

Baptiste gentles him down, shushing him yet again, then pressing suckling kisses against his broad shoulders when only physical contact seems to help.

It’s easy to hook fingers into Sigma. Maybe because of the drugs he’s been pumped full of earlier; or maybe because he’s just so ready for Baptiste; all soft and pliant, little kitten noises spilling from him as Baptiste spreads his fingers and rubs the pads into the silky, squishy walls of his intestines.

It gets worse for a moment before it becomes better. Sigma is restless and whiny, grabbing at him as if he wants to try and crawl under Baptiste’s skin.

But when Baptiste’s cock noses at his hole, everything becomes softer. Sigma is breathing in soft, panting puffs of air, very quiet now, almost lethargic as he lets Baptiste push his leg up further to have more room to work with.

His limbs are impossibly long, but he lets himself get manipulated like he is a lot smaller.

Baptiste can’t help but croon at him as he gently slips home, eyes fluttering close at the feeling.

“Shit…” he whispers and leans his forehead against the nape of Sigma’s neck. It’s definitely been a while since he’s last had the opportunity to fuck someone, and Sigma is… soft and hot and trembling around his cock; squeezing down gently as if unsure what is happening.

“There you go… you can have that all the time,” he murmurs as he begins to rock his hips, eyes clenched shut because he can feel tears of overstimulation itch at their corners. “When you’re a good boy like today… I can make you feel good afterwards…”

He shouldn’t say it, probably, but what other option does he have? He can’t promise him that the pain will stop, or the experiments.

This is the only thing that he can offer, and Sigma accepts it without a word of protest.

Baptiste is fucking him into an almost sleepy state where his body is warm and heavy in relaxation, and Baptiste can’t say that he’s ever seen anything more beautiful than that.

Seeing and feeling him like this is better than any orgasm could be. His gentle thrusts slow down into a crawl.

He wants to enjoy this as long as possible.


	9. Winston/Sigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winston/Sigma – human!Winston; predicament bondage; rape/non-con/dub-con; toys – they’re both too sensitive for this...

“Oh… Oh dear… oh my…” Winston stutters, face flushed a dull red, glasses starting to fog as he turns his head to try and not look at Sigma who, in turn, looks also away, a faint pink on his high cheekbones.

“Goodness,” he whispers. “I am… terribly sorry. I hope I am not too heavy. Let me… let me try-”

He tries moving, slightly wriggling his limbs to try and get a sense of what they’re dealing with after waking up.

Winston _squeaks_ and Sigma _gasps_ and he falls still again, the color on his cheeks intensifying as he, too, turns his head away now. The two scientists glance at each other from the corner of their eyes.

Sigma’s arms are bound behind his back, his wrists connected to some ankle cuffs that keep him bound quite… neatly. There is another broad belt wrapped around their waists, keeping him secure on top of Winston.

As he wriggled, they became very aware of their… their… nakedness.

“Sorry,” Winston mumbles, horrified at the brief feeling of their c-cocks… slipping against each other. “So sorry… I don’t know why…”

But they do know. They can feel the soft vibration against their prostate; something tucked neatly into their little holes and taped to their thighs. Two sweet little bullet vibes that have teased them erect in their drug induced sleep as they were fixated neatly.

“No that’s… that’s quite alright. I will just- just a moment, please,” he mumbles as he tries to find purchase with his knees on the very edge of the table they are lying on. Winston’s thick, hairy thighs are framing his narrow hips; he can only assume that he is in an equal predicament; ankles tethered to his thighs, maybe, to keep him from struggling too much.

Siebren manages to brace himself just so, lifting his hips as much as possible away from Winston to get their dripping flushed cocks to no longer slip slide against each other.

“I am awfully sorry,” Siebren murmurs. “I hope I am not too heavy.”

“No that… ah… that is no problem,” Winston mutters back. He still can’t look at Siebren. His big belly is a nice firm surface for Siebren, Winston’s ample body hair scratching and tickling at his skin until he feels like he has to be pink all over from oversensitivity.

They’re both awkward and horribly embarrassed, mumbling apologies at every single little motion that causes Siebren’s cock to gently bounce and touch noses with Winston’s erection.

The vibration of the bullet vibes are… impossible to ignore. They are steady and low and the longer they are awake the more they feel like the vibration is crawling all throughout their bodies and making them antsy to just… _move_.

“How could this have happened? I can’t remember a thing…” Winston whispers miserably. He is a bit jumpy despite his sturdy stature. It reminds Siebren that Doctor Winston is a good two decades younger than he. It is easy to forget with how brilliant the young man is; and the thick beard he has, defining his jawline makes him seem older than he really is. Siebren can’t help but wonder about Winston’s obvious sensitivity. How feverishly hot his hirsute body feels beneath him.

“It is… difficult, yes. I seem to recall us being sent to do some… calculations at site…”

His forehead is pulled into a deep frown as he tries to remember what exactly has happened.

They are both interrupted by the sudden sound of a door opening and the sound of footsteps. People are rushing into their room and the two of them squirm immediately, flushing hot red in humiliation as masked individuals ring the table they are fixed on.

There is no way of trying to gather one’s thoughts after that.

Winston is babbling nervously when hands reach out for them, petting their naked skin, tweaking at one of his nipples hidden in midst of the fur of one of his soft tits, and soon enough they give him a gag for his trouble.

Someone takes his glasses off of him, and Siebren becomes a bit worried at the look of blank terror that crosses Winston’s face, but they simply clean them off the fog and gently put them back onto his nose.

Winston seems calmer afterwards, which is… good. It makes it a bit easier, he supposes.

Their captors aren’t… cruel, per se, but the two of them don’t need much anyway to become flustered and squirming.

Their holes are butter soft and receptive. It makes Siebren think that they must have been played with when they were out cold. He’s clenching his eyes shut, trying not to let his body react, but it is impossible with the bullet vibe humming away against his prostate and the thought of them having been… used… without their knowledge.

They can’t look at each other, their cheeks brick red.

Winston is softly moaning into the gag they forced between his teeth; he’s a vocal one even now.

“F-forgive me,” Siebren whispers when someone grabs his hips and starts to gently let their cock nose against his hole after checking with thick fingers just how prepared he was. Nobody pulls out the little vibrator. Tears shoot into his eyes, toes curling nervously just from the dual sensation of getting spread and the relentless buzzing against his prostate.

Something must be happening to Winston as well. He throws his head back, eyes clenched shut, his round gut moving beneath Sigma in a way that makes him a bit scared of falling down even though he knows that it can’t happen the way they are bound together.

He thinks that someone must be mirroring what is happening to him; maybe fucking a dildo into Winston while they are watched by the men standing around them, silent for the most part.

They are not… mean… which is probably the worst part. Like they are endeared by the bumbling scientists trying to remain civil and polite even in their predicament.

“There you go…” the man behind him groans when he has apparently bottomed out. He’s pushed the bullet vibe deeper with his cock and Siebren is seeing stars. He isn’t even aware of his mouth hanging open until the man suddenly pulls back and thrusts in and he closes it with a little snap.

They’re getting nervous and squirmy then. Having the vibes thrumming away is one thing. Getting fucked by nice big cocks, quite another.

Siebren is babbling soft apologies as they both start squirming, trying to shield each other by twisting their hips away, but Siebren’s space on the edge of the table had been tenuous to begin with, and soon he slips off and their cocks slide together, slippery and hot and silky.

There’s crooning laughter going through the ranks of the Talon agents watching them. Siebren and Winston are whimpering.

Either they stay still and let themselves get fucked like good boys, or they squirm and try to dislodge the fat cocks spreading them open and unwittingly hump their needy erections together.

There are tears in the corners of Winston’s eyes. He is so very sensitive… and young… It does not surprise Siebren that he should come first, moaning pornographically into the gag as slimy, slippery heat starts spreading between their bellies, his cheeks ruddy red above his beard.

Humiliated but also… sated looking.

Around them, money is being exchanged. There have been bets going.

Siebren doesn’t think that this will be the last they’re made to endure.


	10. McCree/Hanzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McHanzo – continuation B12F12 – erotic birth (no actual birthing though); mild victim blaming; catching feels – McCree is not quite as much of a bastard apparently...
> 
> (I avoided any particular wording for the genitals. If you are prone to body dysphoria or pregnancy freaks you out or anything close to that, you should maybe skip the fic. Keep your own health in mind :) )

Hanzo sounds… so scared when the contractions begin in earnest. McCree can’t quite fault him for that. He feels a bit scared himself.

There is no doctor present, no nurse; just him and Hanzo in the Yakuza heir’s bedroom and an impending birth to freak both of them out.

Hanzo has his arms curled around his huge belly as much as possible, hands pressing against the underside of it. His lips are moving and it looks like he is begging the baby to reconsider and just… stay.

Stay with mommy forever, just so he doesn’t have to go through the scary process with the man that has been doing nothing but belittle and blame him since he put the little wonder in his belly.

Jesse scoffs and looks away. He is walking around with a tent pole in his pants; at least it feels like it. He has no qualms admitting that seeing – and hearing – Hanzo in pain, breathing through his teeth, instinctively preparing to bear down into the contractions… it is pretty hot.

“I… I’m scared…” Hanzo suddenly says, voice gone all high. His black hair is sticking in strands to his sweaty face, his usually pale cheeks a soft pink. Jesse scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Ye’re just reapin’ what you sowed, aren’t ya, doll?” he says unkindly, but he knows that he is being a huge bastard to this young man. He might be a yakuza heir, but he is still… barely legal. If that. Jesse is not quite sure what Hanzo’s age is.

He watches as Hanzo is shuddering through another contraction, his face pulling into a mask of pain as his legs spread as if pulled on invisible strings.

God… his body is moving all on its own. Even though Hanzo is overwhelmed, his body knows exactly what to do, and that shit is… honestly so fucking hot, Jesse can’t believe he’s never stuck around with any of the other birds he pumped up just to see it through to the end.

He reaches down and fumbles with his fly until his cock hangs out, heavy and drooping to the floor; an overstuffed sausage.

Hanzo glances to him, does a double take when he sees him with his fat erection out in the open, then looks up at Jesse’s face.

His expression is so dumbfounded it is almost hilarious. He doesn’t even seem to have the wherewithal to start sobbing; or maybe some of the yakuza stoicism is kicking in because he just averts his gaze while pressing his lips together tight.

Jesse doesn’t care either way what he is thinking. He crawls unto the bed and grunts: “Come on. Make some room for daddy.”

He pushes and nudges at Hanzo until he is lying on his side, one of his legs up in the air, held by Jesse’s big hand.

The kid sighs out softly. Jesse leans over his shoulder and watches his face. It looks a little less tense, actually. Maybe the position is doing him some good.

It definitely is doing Jesse some good because it has brought everything into position. He only needs to reach down and grab his cock, let it nose against the swollen hole, and _zing_ – right to the root.

Hanzo is hiccuping but he is not protesting. Maybe he knows it would just be in vain. Or maybe he feels that it is nice to get spread open on a fat cock while he’s in labor. McCree thinks he might have read about it sometime, but he’s not sure if he’s just imagined it.

He carefully moves. The slide is smooth and slick; everything buttery soft and parting beautifully for him.

There is not an ounce of resistance left in Hanzo, it seems; all his muscles are trying too hard to relax to deliver the baby.

Jesse has a shaking, pale shoulder in front of him so he kisses it.

“There ya go,” he drawls. “There’s a good little brood machine. It’ll be easier like this, right? You’ll be feeling so much better when I fucked an orgasm out of you. Lil babe will just slide right on out, huh?”

Hanzo is not reacting at all. Jesse lifts up on one elbow to look into his face and make sure he’s still… ya know… with him, and hasn’t passed out or some shit.

No, he’s right there still, eyes half-open, staring ahead of himself, fingers digging claw like into the bedding.

His belly is grotesquely big when seen from the side. It’s probably not the biggest belly ever but Hanzo’s not exactly a big fella himself. Jesse stares at it while his hips are shimmying around, trying to find the best position to give it to the kid.

After a moment of hesitation he reaches out and places his big warm hand on the side of the swell. Hanzo jerks as if shocked out of some kind of day dream, one of his hands shooting down and curling claw like around Jesse’s wrist as if ready to pull him off.

When he realizes that Jesse is just slightly moving his thumb back and forth, he releases him again slowly.

“Hey,” Jesse murmurs, then clears his throat awkwardly. “Hey. It’s alright, kid. You’re gonna get through this, yeah?”

He feels… tremendously awkward saying this, and Hanzo is making it worse by moving his dark eyes until he is staring at him wordlessly out of the corner of the one visible to him.

Jesse presses his lips together and is quiet, gently rolling his hips, fucking his big dick into Hanzo and making him squeak, leg trembling precariously in the air.

“Shit… okay,” Jesse murmurs and pulls his hand away from his belly to again hold Hanzo’s leg up nice and high and out of the way for any labor needs.

Jesse moves again; slow, smooth thrusts that nudge in deep; and for a while he feels like he is actually keeping Hanzo’s contractions at bay until there is a shudder running from tip to toe through the young man and he can suddenly feel him bearing down, walls clenching so hard on his dick that Jesse feels like his eyes are going to pop out of his skull.

“Holy shit,” he groans when Hanzo relaxes again, breathing quick and a little panicked. He’s having pain, obviously.

Jesse doesn’t fancy himself a particularly empathetic man, which… duh… but he can’t help but be a bit… in awe, really.

How Hanzo just takes his lot in life and rolls with the punches. He is scared shitless but not a whimper or a whine has left his lips. He accepts Jesse molesting him, slowly fucking him from behind, even goes as far as leaning into it and trying to relax into the motion; let Jesse fuck the pain out of him.

“There… you go…” Jesse murmurs, into his sweat slick hair right behind his ear. He presses a little kiss there. “You’re doing so well… it’ll all be fine.”

Hanzo’s breath hitches slightly and there is a moment of absolutely nothing happening before he breathes out forcefully, accepting Jesse’s sudden tenderness just like everything else.


	11. Jacket/Dallas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacket/Dallas – PayDay2 – rape tw; daddy kink; name calling; PTSD; blood; soft ending – A heist gone wrong thanks to Jacket has Dallas snapping.
> 
> (First time writing for a fandom I’m not in :) )

The swing had come big and obvious for Jacket’s jaw but he had not even tried to turn away from it.

He’s toppled back unto his unmade bed and grunts vaguely. By the time Dallas is on him, tie loosened with the aching hand he’s hit him with, Jacket has turned his head towards him and grins at him with bloodied teeth.

“Fucking freak,” Dallas grunts. His hand is around Jacket’s throat, squeezing to hear him wheeze, but it doesn’t change the grin. It doesn’t even look happy or condescending. It’s like it’s just a muscle spasm: Jacket’s eyes are blank like a doll's.

“You almost got us killed back there! The _fuck_ did you kill that guard for?!”

Jacket does not answer, obviously. His stupid little recorder has slipped out of his hand as he’s toppled and is lying on the bed just out of reach of his fingertips. 

Dallas bares his teeth at him in a snarl. He does not enjoy getting down and dirty with the rest of the rubble – he considers himself more… sophisticated – but Jacket has a way of getting beneath his skin.

Maybe it is the way his eyes remain glassy like a doll’s even when the mask is off. Maybe it is the way he holds himself; weirdly stiff yet slouching. Like an alien that is just playing at being a human.

“I’m gonna teach you a fucking lesson, kid,” he breathes. It’s easy to rip Jacket’s pants off. He doesn’t help, but he doesn’t hinder him as well. He just lies there with his lip slowly oozing blood, staring at Dallas like his batteries have run out after the botched up shitshow that was their last heist.

That shitshow that they can all thank this psychopath for.

Dallas still never lets his hands out of sight. He’s never quite… comfortable with Jacket. He’s never been able to assess him as easily as the others. He is a loose canon with way too much skill – and no conscience.

Still, maybe this will drive the lesson home.

Dallas groans, hands spasming where they clutch Jacket’s thighs as he force fucks his way inside. It’s not smooth, of course, there is nothing to slick the way, and Jacket is fucking _tight_, but where there’s a will and all that jazz…

Jacket reacts a bit, then. Apparently getting a nice fat cock fucked into his little cunt is finally doing the trick after all. His brows twitch into a vague frown and then his bloody mouth stops smiling. The corners pull down. Dallas is… kind of fascinated.

He fumbles to open the top buttons of his dress shirt. He leans forward, his loosened tie dragging against Jacket’s torso as he makes him curl his hips up so he can grunt fuck down into him with more gusto.

“Shit, you’re tight… Should’ve done this earlier… get at least my frustrations out.” He almost lets his eyes shut. He sees Jacket starting to reach for his recorder and he snatches it up, dangling it in front of him.

“That? You want that you fucking psycho?”

He pulls it out of reach when Jacket makes as if to grab for it.

By now, Jacket looks actually distressed, though Dallas isn’t able for the life of him to tell whether it is because of the dick rooting around in his guts or the fact that the recorder is out of reach.

There is something… something _epic_ about being the one that finally makes Jacket crumble and show the least bit of emotion. It makes Dallas feel like the top of the fucking world.

This freaky little…

Jacket is gasping softly as Dallas drives especially deep. It’s a wet and tiny thing as his long fingers start clutching at the unmade bedsheets they’re fucking on.

His insides clench down on Dallas and a zing of pleasure shoots up his spine.

“Shit, that’s the life… That’s the goddamn life.”

Everything is smelling thickly of the blood that’s slicking his way into Jacket, and it is nauseating for sure, but Dallas can’t remember the last time he had a good old nut inside another warm body. 

It’s a tricky business being the brains of all these idiots. Keeping them in line.

It’s only his right to finally get his due.

He throws the recorder at Jacket’s face, nearly hitting him in the head. He immediately scrabbles to grab for it.

Dallas looks down, staring at Jacket’s cock half hidden underneath his t-shirt. The freak got nice junk, at least. A bit unkempt, not like Dallas likes to keep his, but a good pair of balls and a cock that looks definitely a bit on the chubby side.

Figures that the freak would enjoy getting raped.

There’s a click and the sound of the tape rewinding to some place. Dallas’ eyes snap up, staring at Jacket, but he has his head back, chin pointing to the ceiling. It is difficult to see his face.

With unerring accuracy, as he always does, he suddenly stops the tape and hits play.

A woman’s voice is saying a breathy: “Daddy…”

Dallas stutters to a halt and stares at him, Jacket turns his head just a little, glancing at him with one eye. Finally _reacting_ for once. Looking human.

Looking _unsure._

“Oh my fucking…” Dallas groans and leans down over Jacket. He doesn’t _kiss _him, of course, but he does curl one arm around his head as he gives it to him in small little thrusts, rabbit fucking him a bit gentler than before.

“Freak…”


	12. Reaper/Soldier76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R76 – uniform kink; boot kink; gun kink; roleplay – Jack is really hot for Gabriel in his strike commander uniform. Gabriel thinks it’s weird but plays along. Until he’s really into it as well.

Jack is sitting on a chair, hunched over, hands clasped between his bouncing knees. He’s wearing combat pants and knee high boots, but just a tank top. Still, he can feel how it is already soaking with sweat beneath his arms.

He… can’t remember the last time he’s been this nervous. Maybe during his very first medal ceremony. He’s not quite sure.

His eyes are fixed on the bathroom door and he can hear Gabriel moving around behind it, occasionally cursing.

“Blue’s not really my color, Jackieboy,” Gabriel calls out eventually. Jack swallows and rubs his palms together; they slip slide as if covered in oil. Damn, he’s nervous.

“That’s-” he starts, his voice all high pitched and broken. He clears it and tries again, now more to his usual deep gruff tones. “That’s alright, Gabe. Really. Just, uh…”

The door opens.

“Yeah. I know.” The voice is soft. Amused. Definitely fond. “Soldier! At attention!”

The sudden bark has Jack nearly sinking on his knees instead of jerking up from his slouch to stand like he’s done during SEP, only this time his chin is nearly on his collarbones as he stares at Gabriel in the bathroom door.

Strike Commander Reyes looks… good. Really good. The pants are a bit tight looking around his thighs, but that only draws more attention to how thick and powerful they are.

In Jack’s mind, blue suits Gabriel _very well_.

Gabriel is standing with his feet shoulder width apart, and his arms behind his back, hands probably curled into fists in the small of his back. He looks broad and put together and powerful.

He looks like he can – and will – crush Jack’s head beneath his boot and the thought has him trembling, cock helplessly, mindlessly trying to push against the heavy front of his combat pants.

Gabriel looks at him like he knows exactly what is going through Jack’s head. He smiles slowly, but it does not look benign. It looks… smug and superior and makes Jack feel really, really small in the best way.

“Soldier!” Gabriel barks suddenly, and Jack’s heart is thumping so hard in his chest he feels a little nauseous. His belly aches with how much he wants Gabriel right now as he slowly makes his way a little closer. “What are you doing there?!”

Jack blinks owlishly, mouth opening, then closing, head absolutely blank.

“...Sir?” he says weakly.

Gabriel looks him up and down slowly, upper lip curling in disgust.

“_Sir_?” he repeats, voice high and mocking. He leans in slowly. Jack almost leans back away from him, sweat prickling along his hairline. When Gabriel speaks, the dangerous croon of his voice has Jack’s knees go a little weak. “On your knees, Soldier. My boots are looking for a cleaning.”

Jack’s eyelids flutter, a weird little groan lodged in his throat. He just about sees the triumphant gleam in Gabriel’s dark eyes before he goes down on his knees with a heavy thump.

Despite having donned Jack’s uniform, Gabriel has opted to wear his own boots for their play.

It’s… good. Very good. Jack stares at them with his jaw slack, brain flatlining as he imagines putting his head down on the ground and Gabriel stepping on it. Maybe posing like someone would with the prey they killed.

Jack’s hands twitch to his crotch, cupping and grabbing his dick until he suddenly hears the cocking and soft humming of a gun. _His_ gun.

There is movement and then the gentle cool touch of his pulse rifle nudging beneath his chin. He looks up the long, powerful body until he sees Gabriel’s lazily grinning face.

“What’s this? Are you getting off on this, Soldier?” he asks with a soft yet dangerous croon. Jack slowly shakes his head. He feels like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

There is no help for him. He _will_ die. And he will thank Gabriel Reyes for the privilege.

“Hmmm… then why aren’t you shining my boots yet, Soldier?” Gabriel asks softly. Jack can hear the hum of his rifle. It is loaded and ready. They’re just playing, of course, but in this moment his life is really in Gabriel’s hands. In the easy little curl of his finger around the trigger.

He’s never been so desperately hard before in his life. Gabriel laughs at him and suddenly swings the rifle off to the side. The hum stops as he lets it relax again, the imminent danger gone.

Still, Jack falls forward like a man praying. He curls one hand reverently around the heel of Gabriel’s heavy boot, the other around the back of his calf, and then he… gets to it. No pretense, no hesitation, just his tongue on Gabriel’s boot while the new Strike Commander lords over him like a King.

“How the mighty have fallen…” Gabriel murmurs above him. Jack can feel his ears almost glowing as he listens, his body feeling hot like a furnace. He slowly drags his tongue across the shiny top of Gabriel’s boot, his trembling hands almost sliding off of him with how wet they are with nerves.

“Just yesterday you were the one who could have had everybody at their feet… lapping their sweaty balls and thanking them for the privilege… and now look at you.”

Gabriel suddenly pulls his foot away with an air of impatience. Jack watches as Gabriel slowly lifts his knee. He can hear the desperate creak of the pants – his own pants – as they struggle to accommodate the thick muscles of his thighs bulging.

He is still leaned forward and has to crane his neck to watch. Gabriel laughs at him.

“Pathetic…” he murmurs and puts the sole of his boot against Jack’s forehead and nudges hard. Jack topples over to the side. There is no sense of self-preservation left in him. Not a shred of pride.

His hands are on his crotch again, squeezing and holding on to the fat bulge of his cock as he watches Gabriel start lowering his heavy boot down.

He’d just need to stomp down on Jack and it’d be done with. But, just as with the rifle, there is no sense of dread in Jack. He trusts Gabriel. To a fault, maybe.

Gabriel is as gentle as he can be as he presses the sole of his boot against Jack’s face.

His voice isn’t as smooth and collected anymore when he orders: “Lick.”

And Jack does. He closes his eyes and gets his tongue out. Gabriel’s boots have a deep profile, and he… really gets in there.

He can only hear muffled sound due to the blood rushing in his ears, but he can hear the soft “Shit…” from above.

“You’re really into this, huh? You weirdo?” Gabriel asks and it is only half the ‘Strike Commander’. His voice is trembling.

He lifts his boot and watches Jack’s face; cheeks cherry red and tongue still out. He must look about as out of it as he feels.

Gabriel breathes out explosively and drags a hand across his mouth, then he crouches down next to Jack’s head.

“Wanna play more?”

“Y-Yes… please…”

“Very well. I’m a very busy man, Soldier. I will sit down and do some work and you can take care of the other boot. Understood!”

“Yes! Sir!”


End file.
